Down and Out Stories
by Professor Maka
Summary: This is a companion collection of shorts for my Resbang 2014 fic Down and Out in Death City. The first short, "Meister vs Weapon," is actually the origin story for the entire AU. The second, "Bad Day," is a prequel to the first and shows how Soul and Maka met in college. Superhero AU. Soul x Maka.
1. Weapon vs Meister

**A/N: This is a companion collection of shorts to go with my Resbang fic for 2014, _Down and Out in Death City_. This first short was actually written long before that fic, and the fic itself continues what happens here. The Cover Art was done by CaptainPomelo on tumblr as a birthday gift.**

* * *

><p>He didn't want to do it anymore, but he didn't know how to stop. In the beginning, it was a matter of desperation—he'd discovered the ability and it had been his ticket out.<p>

They called him the Weapon, because really, that's what he was. He could turn himself into flexible metal, stronger than steel, impervious to harm, and shape his body to his whim. To fight, he sprouted blades. He only stole from fatcat corporations and assholes like his parents. What did it matter? He wasn't hurting anyone, was careful to never really hurt anyone. Hell, he even helped people sometimes! He donated a lot of what he took to places that helped poor kids, sometimes gave money to poor families. He had even done things that were called heroic on occasion—saved people from burning buildings, stopped a few muggings, helped stop some guy who wanted to kill everyone in the damned city—the type of stuff the Meister generally handled, only she hadn't been there and he had.

Being a villain had been great. But then Soul met Maka and realized how full of shit he was.

She was a lit major at the same college he attended for music—he needed a cover, after all. They met when he spilled a coke on her, bought her lunch to make up for it, and the rest was history—they became friends, then roommates, then lovers. She was far and away the best thing that had ever happened to him, the only good thing that had ever happened to him apart from discovering his powers.

They talked about everything and when they talked about the Weapon, theoretically of course, she had shown him how what the villain did actually hurt others—how people lost jobs because of what he stole sometimes, how changing the system was good but it had to be done from the inside—and he'd felt like shit. He wanted out, only he didn't know how because he had to make a living and what else did he know how to do?

He promised himself this would be the last time, a big score, big enough to ensure he'd be set for awhile. Long enough to figure out how to do something else with his life because he'd do anything for her. He wanted to be someone she deserved and the Weapon never would be.

It was a large sum of money set to be transported to a newly opening bank, one run by a company that had been involved in some huge stock scandal a few years back. It was perfect. The Weapon would hit the truck, get the cash, take it through his contact to launder, and Soul would be set for some time to come. Maybe he could even get his fledgling music website that he claimed his income to originate from off the ground enough to actually make money. That was the goal, anyway.

He willed himself to change, absorbing his clothes and all. The change into metal altered his appearance so much he needed no disguise—he had no hair, no color, just a shiny metal human shaped body. He would jump from the bridge to the large armored truck, cut in, grab several sacks of the most obvious valuables, then escape over the bridge. Easy peasy.

What he hadn't counted on was the Meister waiting for him. When he entered the truck, she was already there, in her usual, stupid school girl costume (that Soul might have found hot had it been on, say, Maka, but the Meister was too often annoying for him to admit she was actually attractive,) and that stupid black mask that covered half of her face, letting her pigtails poke out the sides.

He had just started to sift through bags, not having seen her in the shadows of the truck, when she clucked her tongue, causing him to whirl around.

"Tsk, Tsk, Mr. Weapon. Getting predictable in your old age."

"You're one to talk," he growled at the annoying super hero. It was his last damned job. Couldn't she be derelict in her duties just this once? Fuck.

He transformed his arm into a scythe blade, his other hand on the sack he'd begun to fill, and then, leapt up through the top of the still moving vehicle. "I'll just be going then," he smirked down at her and then, bounded off the truck. Along with making him impervious to most physical harm, his metal body was super strong and abnormally fast. Not fast enough, though. The Meister had followed and had him by the arm, whipping him around. Shit shit shit. Worse, they weren't on the bridge, the truck had moved faster than he'd calculated and they were back in the city. He transformed the arm she grabbed, causing her to let go, and ran.

But the Meister was as fast as he was. And she could fly. He was never going to lose her this way. Finding that he'd ran to a dead end alley, he turned to fight. Double fuck.

The Meister was a real pain in the ass to fight, too. Flight. Super strength. Energy attacks. Mind reading. Shielding. She claimed her power was to manipulate her soul and to read the souls of others, but whatever the case, she was strong.

The Weapon dropped his loot bag and transformed both arms into sharp scythes, facing her with a vicious smile.

"Sure you wanna play, little girl?"

"I should be asking you that. I don't think you can handle me."

"Oh, you'd be surprised what I can handle, tiny tits. You get outta my way and I might not have to scar up that pretty little face of yours."

"Pffft. As if, loser. A two bit villain like you should give up now, save yourself a few broken bones—or," she eyed his odd metallic form skeptically, "whatever you have in there."

"Bring it on, little girl."

And then, she did. Only, this attack was new. It was an energy attack, the type that normally didn't hurt him so he didn't even bother trying to dodge, but this time, it was super heated, unlike anything she'd ever thrown at him before, and he found himself beginning to—melt. Gasping in pain, he felt his grip on his metallic form slipping and fell to the ground, totally vulnerable, totally human. This was supposed to be his last job, and now he was totally fucked.

"Oh, crap! I didn't know that would—I mean—I never meant to—" The Meister sounded panicked as she knelt over him. He'd collapsed to the ground face first and was groaning in pain. His torso felt on fire and he was pretty sure he was burned, badly. The hero flipped him over gently, her strength allowing her to handle him as if he were a child, and then gasped.

"S.. Soul?"

"Wha—?" His vision was hazy with pain, his senses blurred, but she suddenly sounded so familiar.

"Oh my god Soul, I didn't know—I didn't. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but how could you—" She was shaking her head and were those—tears? Was the Meister crying for him? It was the first time, the only time, she had ever been so close and he noticed her eyes were green, so green. So much like—

"Maka?" His voice was a low rasp.

She was still shaking her head in disbelief as she spoke. "We'll… figure this out. I'll take you home, and I'll—I'll call Stein to help you—and we'll figure this out, okay?" She sounded more like she was talking to herself than to him, but she scooped him up just after, leaving his bag of loot behind in the alley like so much trash and whisking him off into the night.

He didn't know what was going to happen now, what she would do, though her arms around him felt familiar, good and right. It was supposed to be his last job, and one way or the other now, it would be. It truly would be.


	2. Bad Day

**A/N: This short details how Soul and Maka met in college. It predates the previous short by two years.**

* * *

><p>It had been that type of morning.<p>

As he grabbed his plate of cheese pizza—of course they were out of pepperoni—and an oversized fountain drink, he weaved his way through the unwashed masses of the student center food court, hoping for a quiet table in the corner, maybe near enough one of the large television sets that he could zone out for an hour before his next class.

Why the fuck was he even _here _again?

Oh yeah. Test in music theory, and he needed to actually pass that idiot class. If he didn't pass, he'd be kicked out of the program, and he _really_ couldn't risk his cover being blown.

Fuck did he wish he was still passed out at home—the Meister had really kicked the shit out of him last night. Sometimes, being a villain, being _the Weapon_, could be a real drag. He was sore and exhausted. Since he'd overslept and hadn't had time to shower, shave, or eat, he was also dirty, smelly, and starving. Then, because he was running late, he hadn't been able to find a legit spot to park his bike, so he'd left it on the sidewalk and it had gotten towed. Even through all of _that,_ he was _still_ twenty minutes late to his morning class, a class in which the prof already had it out for him, yet another class he couldn't afford to fail.

Fucking hell.

Well, at least he'd landed a hard blow to the Meister's stupid smug face that had resulted in a rather satisfying crunch along with a rather hard fall onto that pert little ass. He'd managed to slip away with the small bag of diamonds he'd scored since she was too busy collecting herself from the pavement to do anything about it. He almost snickered at the thought that the self righteous little bitch must be just as sore as he was. Served her right for always being underfoot. Fucking pain in his ass.

Sometimes, being a villain had its perks.

Still, this was_ not_ a good fucking morning. So _of course_ in the five seconds he'd zoned out he'd ended up smacking right into some girl, losing his grip on his piss yourself sized coke and dousing her.

"Shit, shit, I'm sorry!"

The girl—slender, pretty, with the greenest eyes he'd ever seen—looked like she was having a pretty piss poor morning herself. She had a largish bruise on the apple of her cheek, had dark smudges beneath those vibrant eyes, had her ash blonde hair slung into a messy ponytail.

She was also now soaked through her hoodie and pajama pants with his soda and was understandably glaring at him as he continued to gape somewhat helplessly, far too sluggish for proper action.

Seriously. Fuck this morning.

"Do you not know how to watch where you're going you utter moron?" she growled at him.

"Look, I _said_ I'm sorry," her ire snapped him from his stupor. "Let me—uh—" he eyed her sopping form, her tray on the ground "—give you my shirt and, um, buy you some lunch?" he offered placatingly.

Since his own lunch was currently all over the damned floor, he ignored it in favor of shucking off his leather jacket and band t-shirt and handing them to her solicitously, hoping they didn't reek of B.O. and the Ben Gay he'd rubbed into his sore muscles last night, hoping as well she'd say yes and stop scowling at him. He felt exposed, nearly naked in just jeans and a white undershirt. He had a feeling he'd feel exposed underneath that gaze even in armor, even in his metallic skin.

Somehow, it didn't bother him.

He found himself really hoping she'd agree. That spark in her green, green eyes was absolutely intoxicating.

Stupid stupid_ stupid._ He really _was_ out of it if he was craving human contact. Fuck.

After a small pause as she sized him up, she half shrugged, snatching up his peace offering to storm away without another word. He chased after her helplessly until he was met with the swinging door of the girl's bathroom and paused just outside, slumping tiredly against the wall.

When she returned not two minutes later, his shirt and jacket huge over her small frame, hanging low over her damp plaid pajama bottoms, she was still scowling.

Soul was stunned. The sight of this strange girl, seething in his clothes, sent a jolt of empathy and—was that possessiveness?—coursing through his very soul.

He_ coveted_.

It was a feeling he was used to—one he indulged frequently enough—but one he had never had about a person. He coveted things—electronics, video games, instruments. He didn't covet people.

That is, not until now. Not until this stupid, skinny girl with the flashing green eyes.

Normally he stayed away from people, girls especially. They annoyed him, judged him. They were nasty, petty, selfish; his family had taught him that lesson early and well.

And girls were the worst. Always gaping at him like he was some sort of fucking object, some freakish _thing_, either in fear or, very rarely, lust. Soul had never had much use for them. He had a perfectly serviceable hand.

Even if he didn't tend to be of the opinion that other people were assholes, though, he still would have kept his distance. Because other people were also trouble. They made you weak, got you caught.

And yet, here he was, gaping at some stupid girl.

"So, lunch?" she interrupted his spiraling thoughts, frowning. "I mean, if you're through trying to catch flies with your mouth."

"Oh—yeah—lunch—" he stammered. "Uh," he scratched the back of his neck nervously. "Anything you want, sure."

It turned out she wanted pizza—apparently, his had looked good slopping up the floor.

They sat together in a quiet corner, each munching on their own slice. It was awkward. At least she'd stopped glaring.

"I'm Maka," she finally said between bites. "You look like you've had as bad a morning as I have."

"So what you're really saying is I look like shit?" He raised his eyebrows.

"Pretty much. You have a name?"

"Soul," he offered, before taking a slurp of his new soda. "And yeah, been a pretty shitty day. But you know what? Got a date with a cute girl, so I figure it's looking up."

As soon as the words were out he wanted to groan. Could he be any more cheesy? What the fuck was _wrong_ with him today?

She flashed pink for a moment before she snickered. "That was as terrible as you look, which is pretty terrible." She shook her head. "But I'll give you a break since we have a really crappy day in common. What happened to you, anyway?" She gestured vaguely to his forearm, which was raw and red—the Meister had unleashed a new hand to hand energy attack last night he'd barely managed to block, and the strain of it had left its mark on his human form.

"Hot pan," he grunted, then motioned at her cheek. "You?"

"Fell down the stairs," she shrugged. "What kind of name is Soul, anyway?" He was caught off guard by the quick shift, if only a little. He was used to getting shit about his name.

"The kind my parents gave me," he shrugged it off. "Not like Maka is better."

"Mmm," she hummed. "Guess both our parents were hippies. It actually means Earth. Believe it or not, my Dad's name is Spirit, so yours definitely isn't the weirdest I've heard."

"Fantastic," he rolled his eyes, causing her to roll hers in turn.

"You know, you're pretty shitty at this whole apologetic thing," she said lightly.

"So they tell me. Tell you what, I gotta run soon—got a test I can't really miss—but I could always buy you dinner to try the apologetic thing again. I probably could use the practice."'

Oh fuck that was stupid. He did not need to be hanging out with random college girls—this was just a cover for fuck's sake—but he couldn't help it. She was cool, and there was just something about her that drew him in. He was a fucking idiot.

She blinked at him for a long moment. "Look, Soul, you seem like a decent enough guy, klutziness aside, but I'm not really looking for a date right now, so—"

"Not a date," he raised his hand placatingly. "Just a gesture. I replaced your lunch, but I didn't exactly make it up to you."

"Just a gesture," she said slowly. "Like between friends?"

"Sure, if you'd like," he returned with a shrug, though his pounding heart and sweating palms belied the casualness of the gesture, the boredom in his tone.

"Alright," her tone was cautious. "I'll meet you in front of South Hall at 6:30, if that works."

He nodded, rose. "Works," he grunted, picking up his tray to discard the remnants of his lunch. "Catch you then."

And he gathered up his stuff and left, wondering what the fuck he'd just stupidly wormed himself into, and thinking all the while that maybe this day wasn't so terrible.

If the soft little smile on his lips as he walked away was any indication, it actually wasn't shaping up to be a bad day after all.

And who knew, when he hit up that bank tonight after he dropped Maka off, maybe the Meister would even be busy for once.

Well, a guy could dream.


End file.
